Understudy
by Jackfan
Summary: Jack goes undercovers. Mission, JI angst, humor. Mid S3. FINAL
1. Chapter 1

**Title**:  Understudy

**Rating**: PG-13 for suggestive situations and language.  Yes, I _know_ that's a crime with this premise.  Best I can do.

**Disclaimer**:  The characters are the property of Bad Robot and JJ Abrams.  

**Summary**:  Jack goes undercover(s).   Mission, J/I angst, humor.

**Timeframe**: Mid S3.  

**Author's Note**:  This fic is three stories intertwined – the mission itself and the comic fluff associated with it; the J/I angst that gets dredged up; and a coming of age piece for a new agent.  

Chapter 1

Neil Richards scanned the dimly lit office, buried on the basement level of a decaying office building.  Stained ceiling tiles, peeling paint, and worn linoleum spoke of decades of neglect.  He had worked summers for his father's construction company, refurbishing places like this; that career path had never seemed more alluring than at this very moment.

Crammed into the 8x8 windowless room were two aging video monitors, a desk, a chair, and a computer terminal.  He glumly fingered his brand new id badge and sat down with a sigh.  Somehow he had imagined a slightly more exotic setting for his first assignment with the CIA.

**

_"Agent Richards, reporting for duty, sir!"  Enthusiasm radiated in strong waves off the newly minted agent, fresh from training._

_A balding supervisor glanced up from the stacks of files on his desk as Richards briskly entered.  "Richards…Richards," he repeated to himself distractedly as he removed his bifocals to get a better look.  "Oh, yes, I remember.  Welcome to the CIA, son."_

_"Thank you, sir!"_

_"We don't follow the strict chain-of-command here in Analysis," said the supervisor dryly.  "You can drop the sir's."_

_"Yes, sir!"_

_ Biting back a rebuke, the supervisor looked more closely at the newest member of his staff.  "How old are you?" he asked skeptically._

_"I'm in college, sir."_

_"Congratulations.  I'm sure your parents are proud of you.  But that wasn't the question."_

_"Seventeen, sir," replied Richards, slightly deflated._

_"Hot shot, eh?"_

_Richards hesitated, unsure how to answer without sounding cocky.  That his test scores at age 13 would have gained him entrance to most colleges was a matter of record; that few people wished to know this, a matter of experience._

_"Never mind.  I'm sure there's a reason you were recruited, son.  You'll spend the next 6 months here in Analysis."  The supervisor thumbed through the files on his desk.  "I think I've got – yes, this will be perfect.  For your first assignment, I want you to transcribe the tapes for 'Operation Trojan Horse', which has just been completed."_

_"Transcribe, sir?"_

_"Hearing an issue, Richards?"_

_"No, sir.  But I'm not sure I understand."_

_"Look. Listen. Type."_

_"Oh."_

_The supervisor unbent slightly at Richards' crestfallen expression.  "Best way to learn, son.  Watch the seasoned professionals in action.  See how they react to the situations they face, the types of decisions they make."_

_"I see, sir." _

_The supervisor scanned the sheet in front of him.  "And you're in luck.  Jack Bristow was the field agent on this mission.  He's one of the best.  He started at your age, too."  Three videotapes, a stack of photographs with names, and a pair of glasses slid across the table.  "Mission briefing, mission support and communications base, and mission debriefing," the supervisor enumerated, pointing to each tape in turn.  "Plus ID photos of the agents you'll see."_

_"And the glasses, sir?"_

_"Worn by Bristow throughout the op.  Equipped with a micro-recorder.  You'll get video and audio.  Match that up with the videotapes; create one summary transcript of everything that happened.  Got it?"_

_"Yes, sir," replied Richards without enthusiasm.  He got it. _

_"And remember what we expect of new agents."_

_"Attention to detail and judgment," parroted Richards mechanically  "Sir."_

_"Welcome aboard, Richards."_

**

Loosening his tie, Richards sat at the keyboard and placed the glasses into the port attached to one of the monitors.  He waited impatiently.

_Humming_.  The screen was dark, but the clear sound of off-key humming could be heard through the speakers.

_Humming?  Was he supposed to record that in the transcript?  Attention to detail was important, he reminded himself.  But why wasn't there any video?_

"Testing…1…2…3.  C'mon, transmit for daddy….Woohoo!  It works!"  Several unidentifiable noises were heard, then the video sprang to life, showing a short, awkward individual admiring himself in the mirror.  He was wearing the glasses.

_Resident geek, sniffed Richards.  He riffled through the photos, but found nothing matching the individual on his monitor.  _

_"Operations Technical Support" he typed, "performed audio and visual crosschecks on the equipment prior to the mission."  He'd use some judgment as well._

"Flinkman, Marshall Flinkman," intoned Marshall in a deep voice while striking a pose in front of the mirror.

_Richards smirked as he carefully added the name "Marshall Flinkman" to the transcript. _

"Aren't you supposed to be on your way to the briefing?" came a woman's voice behind him.

Marshall turned around quickly, looking sheepish.  

_The glasses panned the room and Richards sat up a little straighter as they settled on a lithe form smiling with gentle amusement at Marshall.  Glancing at the pictures in front of him, he quickly identified the voice as belonging to Sydney Bristow.  He gave a low whistle of appreciation._

_"Agent S Bristow confirmed briefing attendance with Flinkman," he typed._

"Oh, hey Syd.  Just on my way."  Marshall carefully folded the glasses, grabbed a stack of folders, and hurried out of the room to join her.

Together they loped through the halls to the conference room, only to stop uneasily at the door.  Devlin, Dixon, and Jack were huddled together at the far end of the room.  Jack's lips were set in an angry line.

"Sydney, Marshall, leave your things and give us 30 minutes, will you?" requested Dixon, looking up.  "And let everyone else know."

"Sure," they said simultaneously.  Marshall hastily dumped his folders on the table, setting the glasses down next to them, and they both backed out.

_The faux wood grain that filled the screen in front of him told Richards that Marshall had left the glasses face down.  By turning up the volume on the glasses to MAX, however, he was just able to hear the low conversation across the room._

"The answer is no," said Jack tightly.  "You, of all people, should know that Ben."  His head swiveled to Dixon.  "And if you had given me the *courtesy* of discussing this in person, Marcus, you wouldn't have wasted Director Devlin's time."  

Dixon didn't flinch.  "My job is to evaluate the mission risks and make the best decision for all the personnel involved.  This option is the best, and safest, way to proceed."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Jack, it's been almost 25 years," interjected Devlin in a reasonable tone.  "You're not married.  You excelled at these missions earlier in your career.  Is there something else you're not telling us?"  He looked slightly uncomfortable.  "A…medical reason, perhaps?"

Jack's voice turned arctic. "I refuse a mission on principle, and you're asking if I can get it up?"

Devlin held up his hands in surrender.  "Fine, Jack.  Fine."  Dixon opened his mouth, but Devlin cut him off.  "Just let him read the analysis, Marcus.  Perhaps he can find something we missed."  

Dixon nodded in understanding.  "Very well.  Thank you for your time, Director.  I'm sorry to have bothered you."  Soberly he handed the file to Jack.  "You've got 25 minutes, Jack.  Review it and you can present the alternative plan at the briefing."  He escorted Devlin left the room together.

_What the hell was that all about?  Richards stared at his keyboard, perplexed.  "Director Devlin, Director Dixon, and Agent Jack Bristow discussed the mission.  No agreement was reached," he typed._

_Richards skipped through the next 25 minutes, but nothing additional could be heard beyond the sound of pages being turned and the occasional muttered oath.  Eventually the room began to fill for the mission briefing.  He leaned over and popped the video for the briefing into the player.  Freeze framing it at the start, he quickly identified the participants.  "Mission briefing attendees: Flinkman, S. Bristow, Weiss, Vaughn, J. Bristow, Director Dixon."_

_He zoomed in on Jack Bristow and considered him carefully for several minutes.  Graying hair, conservative dresser, a face which gave away little.  'One of our best field agents', his supervisor had called him.  If so, thought Richards skeptically, he certainly hid it well.  He noticed that Bristow's eyes would occasionally flick in his daughter's direction.  What must it be like to work with your father, he wondered?  He tried to imagine working with his mother on a CIA taskforce and shuddered.  All she would do was worry._

"...our source informs us that the genetic fingerprint for the Covenant's mutated plague virus is stored at this location in Prague."  Jack Bristow pressed a button on the remote and a picture of an elegant villa appeared on the screen.  "It's critical that we obtain a copy of the fingerprint so that our labs can design a vaccine prior to dispersal by the Covenant.  Dispersal," he added heavily, "is imminent."

"Do we know the location of the information?" Vaughn leant closer to get a better look.

"Yes."  A floor plan replaced the exterior photo.  "A concealed safe in a small study adjoining the master bedroom."  

"Sounds straightforward.  When do we leave?" asked Sydney.

"Not straightforward."  An aerial shot of the villa replaced the floor plan.  "Defensive countermeasures that we are aware of include weight sensitive anti-personnel mines on the perimeter; attack dogs, and snipers on the roof.  There is no underground service access and overhead power lines preclude the possibility of parachuting in.  Analysis indicates that hostile penetration would be," Jack shot a look at Dixon and took a deep breath, "close to suicidal."

"So how are we getting in?"

"Escorted by the owner."

"How am I going to accomplish that?"

"Not you, Sydney.  Me." 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Brief definitions – raven and swallow – agents (male and female, respectively) employed to seduce people for intelligence.  I've used the terms imprecisely in the fic, but the general direction is clear.

Chapter 2

"You?"  Sydney became aware that her mouth was still open and quickly closed it, but continued to look at her father curiously.  It was highly unusual for him to take a field assignment.  "What's your cover?"

"Professor of Biogenetics.  Dr. Frederick Bartholomew."  A headshot appeared on the screen.  "Dr. Bartholomew was planning to attend a conference in Prague; I'll be attending in his place.  While the good doctor has a worldwide reputation, he does not have a worldwide acquaintance.  He is shy and reclusive; the majority of his communications to date have been published papers.  With a little bit of luck, I'll avoid anyone that knows him personally."

"Jack, Vaughn's got the right build.  Wouldn't it be better to send him?" piped up Weiss.  

"Bartholomew's in his mid-50's."

Weiss shrugged.  "Makeup."

Jack's eyes flickered briefly.  "For this particular mission, I'm afraid facial makeup will be insufficient.  The field agent will need to have the body of someone in his mid-50's."

Sydney's brow wrinkled in confusion, but any hope that Jack had had that the heart of the mission would elude her was eliminated when Marshall elbowed Sydney in the side and leant over, saying in a stage whisper, "Raven."

"What?" she spluttered.

_What? Richards spluttered.  A *raven* mission?  But surely he was too old to…was that what Devlin had been talking about?_

"Now that I have everyone's undivided attention," said Jack acidly.  "Perhaps I could continue?  Without interruption?"  And indeed, thought Jack looking around the room, he had never received such avid attention from all participants.

He pressed yet another button, and a woman's picture filled the screen.  "Countess Margit Schoenfeld, widow of the late Count Schoenfeld, and owner of the villa."  Long blond hair cascaded in waves around a face that would not have shamed a Vogue model.  And could not be older than 35.

"That's your *target*?" asked Weiss in awe.  

"And I am hers."

"No offense, Jack, but I think you got the better end of the deal."

Jack gave Weiss a withering look.  "The Countess has developed an unusual hobby on behalf of the Covenant.  With her former husband's wealth, she anonymously sponsors scientific conferences in Prague, primarily in the genetics area.  She then targets the most prominent of those scientists attending and extracts classified information of use to the Covenant."

"Extracts?" asked Sydney, her mouth dry.

"She's a swallow, Sydney," said Jack softly.  "The extraction takes place back at her villa."  He held up his hand to forestall the question he saw forming as understanding washed over Sydney's features.  "Later," he said firmly.

Sydney looked troubled, but said nothing.

"I will attend the conference.  We project that the Countess will initiate contact, with the objective of obtaining information regarding management of viruses on a large scale, an area in which Bartholomew is an expert.  I will…cooperate.  Once inside the villa, I will access the safe and make a copy of the virus, then escape.  Questions?"  The room was silent.  

Dixon cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Jack.  Marshall, you have some OpTech for this mission?"

"Uh, yes, yes I do."  Marshall stood up and picked up the glasses.  "These glasses look like ordinary glasses, right?"  He put them on.   "Well, maybe not the height of fashion, but then it's unlikely that Dr. Bartholomew would need the height of fashion, right?  But they look good on me, don't they?"  He beamed as he looked around the room, inviting people to comment.

_Richards rolled his eyes.  "Flinkman displayed the proposed OpTech equipment for the team."_

Sydney patted Marshall on the arm.  "They look great, Marshall."

"Marshall?" prompted Dixon.

"Oh.  Oh yeah.  The glasses contain a hidden camera and microphone so that anything the wearer hears or sees will be visible to the support team at Base.  Once the safe is opened, Agent Bristow just needs to page through the information.  We'll pick it up off the video transmission."  Marshall beamed at his audience and removed the glasses.  "Plus the arms of the glasses contain tiny speakers that, when placed against the bone behind the ear, will conduct sound to the wearer, allowing the team to communicate back.  Because," he paused, suddenly unnerved, "b-because an e-earpiece might be n-noticeable.  U-up close."  He placed the glasses in front of Jack and sat down quickly, not meeting his eyes.

"Thank you, Marshall," said Dixon grimly.  "Jack, your plane leaves in 12 hours.  You have a great deal of material to absorb; I recommend you get started right away.  Vaughn and Weiss, you'll be on comms at the support base.  We'll have a local team standing by in the event Jack needs backup.  Sydney, I need you to work on analyzing some new intelligence we've received on Covenant activity in Asia.  That is all.  Dismissed."

_Richards watched the meeting breakup, and prepared to switch to the feed from the glasses.  He paused as Sydney approached Dixon._

"Dixon, I'm not working on this mission at all?" asked Sydney.

"No.  The Asian analysis is a priority." 

"But - ,"

"No buts, Sydney.  I'm expecting a report on my desk in 36 hours."

**

Jack knocked at the door to Dixon's office.  "A word, Marcus."

Dixon waved him in warily.  "Come in, Jack.  Thank you for taking the assignment."

"I'm not doing it for you, as you well know," said Jack pointedly, taking a seat.

"I know."  Dixon gave him an appraising look.  "We both know that Sydney is the only operative we have that would have been capable enough to attempt the hostile entrance."

"Yes."

_Richards blinked.  He had taken the assignment to protect his daughter?  Had Devlin known he would do that after reviewing the mission?  _

"What would you have done in my position?"

Jack's eyes were hard.  "The same thing," he said flatly.  "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No."

Both men sat in silence for a moment.  "I came," sighed Jack, "to thank you for not assigning Sydney to the support team."

"I wouldn't want to traumatize her," said Dixon gravely.  "There are some illusions that a child should never have to part with."

"Storks?" 

"Precisely," responded Dixon, with a ghost of a smile.  "Good luck, Jack."

**

"You should have more than enough time," observed Vaughn confidently.  Vaughn, Weiss, and Jack sat together, surrounded by maps, conference agendas, photos of the key players, and a detailed background file on Bartholomew.  Vaughn and Weiss were attempting to pick holes in the operational plan, a standard pre-mission check prescribed by the CIA.  Jack was attempting to keep his temper.  "The conference lasts 5 days."

"And four nights," pointed out Weiss.  He let out a yelp as Vaughn's foot connected with his shin under the table.  "What?  All the critical undercover work will happen at night."  

_Richards groaned.  Idiot.  He backspaced to erase Weiss' comment._

Vaughn and Jack stared at him in silence.  Weiss looked momentarily baffled, then reddened.  "Sorry." 

"Despite his lamentable phrasing, Agent Weiss is correct.  Unless you wish to learn more about biogenetics than you ever cared to, I recommend the two of you concentrate your staffing on the evening hours."

"And the backup team?" asked Vaughn.

"Have them on a 6pm to 6am shift.  Not that they'll be able to do much once I'm inside."

"Will you be armed?"   

Jack shook his head.  "Inconsistent with the cover.  And," he added reluctantly, "no place to conceal."

"What do you mean, no -," A second swift kick under the table halted Weiss' question.

"You might as well stop, Vaughn.  Kicking won't make him any smarter."  Jack turned to Weiss.  "It may come as news to you, Agent Weiss, but one typically does not have all his clothes on following a seduction."

"I knew that!" Weiss protested.  "But surely you won't really be -," he paused, taking in Vaughn's pained expression.

"Agent Vaughn?  Perhaps you could step your colleague through this?  One syllable words might be best."

Vaughn shifted uncomfortably.  "Exit strategy, Weiss.  There's only one way out – the way he comes in.  He'll need to," he looked over at Jack, who nodded, "wake up in the Countess' bed the next morning.  She'll escort him out."

"You're not doing a grab and run?  But I just assumed you'd be waiting until the two of you were alone and knocking her out.  That means…,"

"Yes," agreed Jack, face impassive.  "It's the full monty."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Neil!  Over here!"  Richards looked up with pleasure and headed toward a table in the Langley cafeteria.  Seated at it were several of the graduates from his training class, a welcome relief on his first day.

"Can you believe this place?" asked Richards in a low tone, sitting down.  Hundreds of voices hummed around them.  "When did you guys start?  Where are you?"

"Last week."  Rodriguez jerked his head at his companion.  "Ned's working in Counter-terrorism; they've got me in working on a joint DEA taskforce."

Richards ground his teeth together.  Both his friends were in their early 20's and had been placed in field ops upon graduation from training.

"What about you, Neil?"

"Analysis," Richards muttered.  "Over in one of the annex offices."

His friends exchanged glances.  "Uh, that's great, Neil," said Rodriguez with forced enthusiasm.  "What are you doing in Analysis?"

Richards bit his lip.  "I'm…," he cast about in his mind for a way to spin transcription.  "I'm reviewing a _raven_ mission," he announced triumphantly.

"No sh*t!"  

Richards could see they were impressed. "Yeah.  Audio.  Video.  The works."

"Video?  Man, you're barely old enough to rent porn films!"  The rest of the conversation rapidly degenerated into ribald humor, and Richards relaxed.

**

_Richards stared in horror at the image in front of him on the monitor.  Brown tweed jacket, frayed at the elbows.  Brown plaid shirt.  Rumpled corduroys, at least two inches too short, with white socks peeking out underneath.  Scuffed oxfords.  Bristow was wearing *that*?  For a raven mission?  He had been warned about the many dangers that lay ahead in his career as a CIA field agent.  Being disguised as an uber-geek was one they had failed to mention._

"Figures.  When I go to Wardrobe they talk to me about lingerie.  When you go, they talk about pocket protectors."

Jack spun away from the mirror to see his daughter leaning casually against the doorframe to the CIA's wardrobe facility.  Clothing hung in long neat rows, catalogued by size and purpose.  Two specialists hovered around him, finalizing his mission outfits.  Ruefully Jack looked down at the offending article and smiled.

"Men wear underwear too, you know.  And in my time they used to discuss it plenty," he replied without thinking, then froze.  Dear god, what was he saying?  This was his _daughter._

"You've done this kind of mission before?"  Sydney's eyes widened.

Jack hesitated.  "Yes," he acknowledged unwillingly.  "When I was much younger.  But I stopped when I married your mother."  A shadow crossed his face, so quickly Sydney thought she might have imagined it.  "Because I felt the commitment was important."

Refocusing on his task, Jack carefully wrapped a small piece of adhesive tape around one of the arms of the eyeglasses, giving the appearance of a casual repair.  Putting them back on his face, he looked up at her.  "What do you think?"

Sydney examined him critically for a moment. "Don't you think," she observed tentatively, "that you're overdoing it a bit?"

Jack glanced back over his shoulder at the mirror, then turned back, satisfied.  "The Countess will target me regardless," he replied evenly.  "I have no interest in making it easy for her."

_Again_, thought Sydney to herself.  "In that case," said Sydney out loud, "I think you're missing something.  I'll be right back."  Minutes later she returned, hand outstretched.

Jack stared in loathing at the object in her hand.  "Where did you get *that*?"

Sydney grinned as she gestured for him to take the tie.  "Marshall."

Jack put the tie on and groaned.  "Just promise me.  No pictures."

"Yeah, if Mom saw you like - ,"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind," said Sydney hurriedly.

"Not to worry," replied Jack neutrally, turning back to the mirror to make adjustments.  "She's successfully avoided me for almost two years."

"But I thought you two - ,"

A year of prison.  Nine months of evasive emails.  "Right now, Sydney, the best you could characterize our relationship is 'pen pals'."

"Yes, but -,"

"But, what?"

"Wouldn't she…mind?"

"Mind?  That I'm in close physical proximity to a stunning 30-something bent on seducing me?"  Jack absently fingered his tie.  "I'd like to believe so, but the evidence points to the contrary."    

**

"Audio check."

"You're 5 by 5, Watchtower."

"Visual check."  Jack put on the glasses and scanned his hotel room, littered with the standard trappings of a traveling academic.  Conference papers were scattered on the bed, their margins filled with handwritten notes.  A badge with the name "Dr. Frederick Bartholomew, Speaker" was on the nightstand.  And a remarkably tacky plastic satchel, emblazoned with the words "Biogenetics Are Our Future – Worldwide Conference, February 13-17, 2006" was propped up on the floor near the desk.

_Richards grinned.  When Bristow wore those glasses, it was just like it was Richards himself in his place.  He might not be on field duty yet, but this was the next best thing._

"Visual confirmed."

The contact had proceeded exceptionally smoothly.  Jack, his head crammed with biogenetics buzzwords, had spent two days at the conference and successfully delivered his paper without being exposed as a fraud.  The Countess had lost no time in zeroing in on him, her dedicated and flattering attention to him impossible to ignore.  His fumbling response had, as predicted, not deterred the Countess from inviting him to her yacht for dinner that night.  With luck, there would be a return to her villa.  

He stepped into the bathroom and reached for the can of shaving cream.  With a firm twist at the bottom, he opened a compartment and removed a small pill.  Blood tests on previous targets showed that the Countess had used a sedative in the benzodiazepine family to enhance her results; within 20 minutes of ingestion her targets were semi-conscious and remarkably cooperative.  He swallowed the pill, a stimulant that was supposed to counteract the effects, and hoped the intel was correct.  

A soft _snick_, so quiet as to be barely noticeable, caused him to freeze.  Someone was picking the door lock to his hotel room.  Swiftly scanning the bathroom, he grabbed his razor out of his shaving kit and positioned himself behind the door.  He waited, coiled to spring, as the door to his hotel bedroom slowly opened.  A quiet footfall could be heard on the carpet, then all motion ceased.

"Jack," came the soft voice, "don't shoot."

Fumbling for his glasses, Jack cut off the transmission back to the support base.

"Watchtower, come in.  We have lost transmission.  Repeat, Watchtower, come in."

_Richards watched, puzzled, as Vaughn stared at a blank screen in the support base.  Had the glasses malfunctioned?  He still had a clear picture from the micro-recorder._

Muttering, Jack tossed the razor back into his shaving kit and came around the corner.  "Don't you ever knock?" he demanded irritably, but he was unable to suppress his feeling of exhilaration.  It had been two very long years.

"It's nice to see you, too," said Irina, a tight smile playing on her lips.  Tilting her head upwards, she drew his lips down to hers.  "I missed you," she whispered before capturing his mouth with her own.

_Richards sat back, startled, as a woman's face filled the screen in front of him.  Who the hell was this? He knew from the tapes that Bristow hadn't notified anyone of his itinerary.  Was this the life of a field agent, he wondered?  Beautiful women showing up in your hotel room wherever you went?_

Several satisfying moments later, Jack pulled back to take a breath.  Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply.  "I missed you, too."

"Then what the f*ck are you doing with that slut?"  Jack's head snapped back as Irina's hand connected full force against his face.

_Uh-oh, thought Richards._

"What?!"

"If this was your way of getting my attention, you succeeded.  You may regret it."

"Irina - ,"

"Is your mission plan to get laid?  Or is that just a fringe benefit?"

"I-,"

"Will you be 'penetrating the enemy's defenses'?  'Going under covers'?  'Getting your cover blown'? 'Debriefing her'?"  Irina switched to Russian, hurling obscenities at him.

"Dammit, Irina, enough!" roared Jack.  "I've waited to see you for two damned years!  And one of those was in prison protecting you!  Now you're doing a loyalty test?"  

"Surely it hasn't escaped your notice that she's a swallow?" Irina stepped back, her gaze raking her husband's attire.  "No, of course not," she said caustically.  "You're the damned target.  So when do you plan to feed her the dummy intel?  When she's peeling your clothes off?  When you're in her bed?  Or," her eyes had narrowed to slits, "are you going to wait until her mouth is around your cock?"

Jack breath hissed inward.  "What. gives. you. the. right?" he spit out.  "You.  Of all people.  You did this for ten years.  To me, as I recall, as my wife.  What gives you the right to question what I need to do on a mission?"

Irina whitened.  "Obviously, nothing.  Clearly I expected too much of you."

"Nice feeling, isn't it?"  

They faced off, each trying to regain control.  Irina looked away first.

"Jack -,"  Irina had spotted the wilted carnations and the cheap chocolate on the bed, waiting for delivery to the Countess that evening.  "Don't do it.  Forget the mission.  Stay here with me tonight."  Her face could have been made of porcelain; the brittle edge to her voice a minute crack in the veneer.  

"I can't do that, Irina.  This is too important."

"More important than us?"  The crack widened, allowing her simmering rage to leak through.  "Don't walk out on me, Jack."  

"Good night, Irina."  Jack swept up the flowers and the chocolate and headed out the door, not looking back.  "Don't wait up."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Richards stared in stunned disbelief at the video, then rewound it and watched it again.  That woman had been his wife?  Had stolen information from him for 10 years?  And been *Russian*? Had Bristow been stupid?  Or had she just been that good?_

_Richards' thoughts skittered apprehensively to his new girlfriend, who he'd been dating for several weeks.  A coincidence, he wondered, that they'd hooked up as he finished his CIA training? Or not?  Could he trust her?  Could he – he shifted uneasily in his chair – trust anybody? _

_"How's it coming, Richards?"  The supervisor's voice intruded on Richards' thoughts.  
"Fine, sir," he replied evenly._

_"Learning anything?"_

_Richards paused.  "Yes, sir," he said slowly.  "I think I am."_

_He watched his supervisor depart, and turned back to his work.  Soberly he started up the glasses again._

Jack stalked down the hotel hallway, switching his glasses back on.

"Base to Watchtower."

"Watchtower here."

"We lost transmission for a moment.  Anything happen?"

"Negative," he snapped.  "Proceeding to the yacht."

_Richards hesitated.  Bristow had clearly not given an accurate report of the missing timeframe.  Attention to detail, he reminded himself.  "Bristow met with wife, Irina.  Discussed appropriateness of proceeding with mission," he typed.  There, that should be suitably non-controversial, he thought to himself.  _

"Oh, a full moon," breathed the Countess.  "How _romantic_."  The Countess gave a small shiver.  "Would you mind holding me?  I'm a little chilly."  Without waiting for a reply, she took Jack's arm and draped it across her back.

They stood on the gently bobbing deck of the yacht after dinner, looking out over the water.  The moon, low and shimmering in the night sky, painted a silver trail along the undulating waves.  It was, Jack admitted to himself, a very romantic setting.  "To be precise, Countess, we're in the waxing gibbous phase.  The actual full moon isn't scheduled for another 2 days," he pointed out in a nasal whine.

"Professor, you say the cleverest things," she purred.  She adjusted his hand lower and moved closer.  "I hope you don't mind.  You're so nice and warm."

The evening was on track thought Jack, scowling into the darkness as he clumsily pulled her nearer.  A flare of frustration as he imagined himself with someone completely different coursed through him.  Not that it mattered, he thought bitterly.  It would probably be another two years before he saw Irina again.  

"Oh, Professor," trilled the Countess, "don't you think…," Jack missed the last part of her sally as a soft, uncharacteristic splash near the stern caught his attention.  His gaze slowly swept the boat.

_Richards leaned forward.  What was Bristow looking for?_

A muted roar shook the deck, lifting the stern out of the water.  As it fell back, it began to slowly settle and list sideways.

_"Well, I'll be damned," thought Richards to himself.  "How'd he know?"  He rewound the tape, and heard the splash the second time through.  _

A moment of stunned silence was swiftly followed by shouting and the pounding of feet.  "My God!" said Jack in a tremulous voice, "We're sinking!"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped the Countess, her manner swiftly changing as she strode away to find the captain, leaving Jack to his own devices.  

"Damn.  I was on a roll.  Do these things work in water?" Jack muttered.

After a brief pause, Vaughn's voice came back.  "Marshall says 'No.' Waterproof but can't transmit underwater."  He hesitated a moment.  "And Weiss wants me to point out that you didn't make it to first base."

Jack bit back a reply as a crewman went running past.  It was rapidly becoming apparent that the Professor's assessment had been correct.  He watched with grim amusement as the crew struggled to free the small raft lashed to the top of the bridge.  Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, Jack edged out of sight and dove off the high side of the boat.  With a few strong strokes he approached the stern and treaded water, jaw tightening as he examined the telltale hole in the stern.  His eyes swept the shoreline and paused for a moment.  He cursed fluently.  It wouldn't be two years before he saw Irina again.

_Richards gaped at the screen.  A figure clad in a full-length wetsuit – no, wait a minute he thought as he rewound – a woman in a full-length wetsuit had just emerged from the water._

"Professor!" Jack heard the captain's peremptory call from the other side of the ship.  About time they missed him.  Making his way around he saw that the raft had finally been freed and floated aimlessly on the water as the crew watched the yacht sink.  

"Help!" yelped Jack frantically in reply, beginning to thrash in the water.  "I can't swim!"

**

Jack stripped off his sodden clothing and tossed it into the hotel bathroom floor.  One look at the Countess when they reached the shore - mascara running down her face, hair plastered to her cheeks, and quivering with fury – had told him that the mission was off for the night.

"Base to Watchtower."

"What is it?" Jack growled, ignoring protocol.

"What happened?"

"Engine malfunction," said Jack shortly.  "Yacht sank."

_Engine malfunction?  _

"Copy that.  Bad luck."

"Yes.  Watchtower out."  He pulled off the glasses and tossed them onto the sink, then climbed into the shower, turning the water to hot.

And now he'd have to do it all over again, he thought seething, scrubbing himself with the soap.  He grimaced at the memory of the Countess' contrived adoration.  She'd been completely undeterred by anything he'd said or done.  As Irina had been undeterred by the callow youth who'd been her target?  The thought, unbidden and unwelcome, intruded on his thoughts.  He closed his eyes and scrubbed harder_._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jack carefully adjusted his bow tie and stepped back from the mirror, professionally assessing the reflection.  A snort echoed over his comm link.

"Was there something of value you cared to contribute, Agent Weiss?" he asked evenly

"Nothing," choked Weiss, wondering how Jack had located a tux in such an improbable shade of purple at short notice.  With the sleeves too short and a clip on bow tie, he looked – "It's just you remind me of my high school prom."

"Except I've got a date," responded Jack with deadly intuition.  Direct hit, he thought to himself with satisfaction as the comm link fell silent.  Unsporting, perhaps, given the ease of the target.  But after the fiasco the previous evening, followed by a full day of tedious roundtables and presentations, his temper was frayed.  Irina's fit of pique had cost him a day; his assignation that night had to be a success.

As anticipated, the Countess had been in touch to invite him to an embassy reception, a venue choice that had been accepted by the Professor with relief.  Security would be tight; he would be able to execute his mission without any fear of interference.

He gave one last look at himself.  Black tie, the Countess had said.  Well, he thought smugly, the tie *was* black.

** 

"Dr. Frederick Bartholomew," the footman announced in stentorian tones to the room at large.

As Jack made his way down the stairs to the glittering formal ballroom, shoulders rounded and with a tentative step, he peered around owlishly.  Resplendent in custom tailored tuxedoes and jewel-colored gowns, the stylish throng swirled around him.  "I make 4 people packing," he muttered quietly.  

_Five rewinds later, Richards had found 3 of them.  He punched the play button again in irritation._

"Roger, Watchtower."

Jack stilled.  He sensed he had missed something on his first sweep; his subconscious had issued a warning that his brain refused to accept.  He reached up and switched off the glasses transmission and turned to look more carefully.

"Watchtower, we've lost your signal again."

He sucked his breath inwards, furious.  There she was, in a short blonde wig and a uniform that was at least two sizes too small, part of the event's catering staff.  If he hurried, perhaps he could steer her out of the ballroom; he yearned longingly for a pair of handcuffs that would allow him to park her somewhere safely for the night.  Adroitly he allowed the ebb and flow within the room to slowly move him in her direction.

"Would you like an hors d'oeuvre, sir?  Irina's eyes peered up at him guilelessly through her bangs.

_Richards looked carefully at the waitress.  She looked famil-  it was his *wife*.  Again.  He looked over at Weiss in the support base, frantically running diagnostics on the transmission.  He was beginning to have a suspicion about Bristow's transmission failures._

"I suppose you think that was funny last night?" Jack hissed as the crowd around them momentarily thinned.

"I don't know what you're referring to," replied Irina airily.  "As I recall, you spent last night with _another_ woman.  I'm sorry if the experience wasn't everything you had hoped."  Her voice lowered mockingly.  "There are pills, you know - ,"

"Dammit, Irina.  Stop being such a ...,"

"Oh, Professor," a voice cooed behind him.  "There you are.  I've been looking everywhere for you."  The Countess came up to Jack and proprietarily threaded her arm through his.  "I was devastated that our tête-à-tête was so rudely interrupted last night.  I felt I was just getting to know you better."

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Jack's hand went to his glasses as he turned his attention to the Countess.

"Base to Watchtower.  Reading you now."

"Countess.  What a pleasure to see you again after our terrifying ordeal.  Why, I could barely sleep a wink."  Jack smiled weakly.

"There, there," she said, patting his hand.  "You were so brave, Frederick.  I may call you Frederick?  And you must call me Margit."  She turned to Irina, who had transformed into a faceless servant.  "Bring us two glasses of champagne," she ordered imperiously.  "I think we should celebrate our rescue," she resumed in honeyed tones, smiling blindingly at Jack as she pulled him away.

Several moments later Irina returned with the champagne.  Eyes lowered, she offered a glass first to the Countess, then to Jack.  "Thank you," said Jack stiffly.  He watched her depart, a small frown on his face.

"A toast!" said the Countess gaily.  "To our rescue!"  She raised her glass to her lips, only to have Jack reach across and stop her before it reached her lips.

"We have a custom," Jack improvised rapidly, "to exchange glasses before a toast."  The Countess looked at him oddly, but acquiesced with a gracious nod.  "A toast!" he repeated, lifting her glass to his lips.

_What custom was that?  Puzzled, Richards rewound.  The champagne volume in Jack's glass was the same before and after the toast.  A very small scratch could be seen at the base.  Surely, his wife wouldn't have..._

Surreptitiously Jack poured a small amount of champagne into the potted plant behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Irina watching him, smirking.  

"Is something the matter, Professor?"

Jack hesitated, distracted.  Had Irina put the drug in the marked glass?  Or had she assumed he'd see the mark and switch glasses?  Or had she guessed that he would guess that…he swore to himself in aggravation.  He searched the Countess' face carefully, but could see no trace of any ill effect.  He relaxed.  "It's nothing.  It's just that I've never been very comfortable at large parties," he replied.

The Countess leapt at the opening this provided her.  "Oh, how remarkable.  I feel the same way.  I've always preferred a quiet chat to this noisy chaos."  Her hand gestured dismissively at the elegant crowd surrounding her, normally her favorite milieu.  "I know of a cozy little spot...," she winked invitingly at Jack.  "Follow me."

_Richards swallowed.  They certainly hadn't covered this in training. _

Show time, Bristow, Jack reminded himself as he reluctantly followed her to a dark and secluded alcove.  "What a lovely place to…talk," he offered.

"Oh, Frederick, say something.  I do so love listening to your voice."

Jack cleared his throat.  "The length of the hypotenuse on a right triangle is the square root of the sum of the squares of the sides of the triangle."

The Countess leaned closer.  "Oh, that was so…_sexy_.  Say it again," she breathed.

"The length of the hypotenuse on a right triangle is the square root of the sum of the squares of the sides of the triangle."  

"Say it," whispered the Countess, her lips a millimeter away from Jack's, "one more time."

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Jack unwillingly opened his mouth, only to have the Countess launch herself at him. 

_Richards dragged his attention away from the image in front of him and switched to the seasoned professionals in the Ops Base._

"Line drive down the middle.  Runner on first," smirked Weiss over Vaughn's shoulder.  Vaughn was on duty, monitoring Jack's progress on the mission.  

Vaughn studied the scene in front of him professionally.  "Do you think he'll have any tonsils left when she's - Syd!"  Vaughn jumped up in front of the monitor as Sydney entered the room.

"Oh, hey Vaughn, I just wanted to talk to you about – what's going on?" she asked worriedly.  "Dad's alright, isn't he?"

"Just fine," squeaked Vaughn, elbowing Weiss hard.  "Weiss, why don't you take over while Syd and I go get some coffee," he said, shoving his headset at Weiss.  "Nothing much to see."  He glared at Weiss, who was consumed with a coughing fit.  

"Come on Syd."  Vaughn grasped Sydney's arm and firmly towed her out of the room.

_"Agent Weiss replaced Agent Vaughn at support base," typed Richards._

Jack pulled himself free from the Countess with effort.  "Countess," he gasped in a stunned voice, "I don't know what to say."  He suspected the real professor had never have been so thoroughly kissed in his entire life.  

"Don't say anything," she purred.  He braced himself for another onslaught as she leant back towards him, only to see her stop abruptly.  Her face began to turn a delicate shade of green.

Jack watched her with a sinking sensation.  "Is – is something the matter?" 

"I…don't…feel…very…," she leapt to her feet and lunged for a waste can, vomiting thoroughly.

"Oh, dear," said Jack in an ineffectual voice, while raging inwardly.  Damn Irina.  "Is there anything I get you?"

"Get. my. driver."  As it looked like the Countess was going to be sick again, Jack sped away hastily.

"And at the end of the inning, the runner is stranded on first," announced Weiss through the eyeglasses as Jack located the driver and sent him on his way.

"Shut up, Weiss," snapped Jack in aggravation.  Weiss's adolescent scorekeeping was not what he needed right now.  What he really needed was a neck to snap.  He searched purposefully for Irina, but she had vanished.  A prudent move, he thought to himself grimly.

**

"You know, Weiss, I'm not sure Jack appreciates your commentary," observed Vaughn a short time later.

"I'm just trying to help him relax," came Weiss's cheerful response.

"No, I mean, he might start to _dislike_ you," said Vaughn.  "And that might be… hazardous, if you know what I mean."

"Give me a break.  Name one person he really likes."

"You mean as a friend?"  Vaughn concentrated for a moment, then shook his head.  "Can't.  I don't think he has any now."

"Now?  Or ever?  I'm having a hard time imagining Jack at happy hour."

"Oh, I think he did at one time.  Some of Syd's pictures when she was little show him with a group of guys."  Vaughn looked embarrassed.  "When we thought he was a KGB spy I had them investigated."

"And?"  

Vaughn shook his head grimly.  "Not good.  One of them – Revesz, I think his name was – he drowned during a nighttime amphibious landing in North Korea.  Another died in a firefight on a mission to the Ukraine that was compromised." He looked meaningfully at Weiss.  "Compromised to the KGB."  

"Oh."

"Yeah, while he was married to Irina.  And then, of course, there was his best friend, Sloane."

Weiss made a rude noise.  "Now there's a friend to be proud of.  World-class terrorist who murders your daughter's fiancé, kills her best friend, and sets you up to be tortured, if not killed."

"Perhaps it's not a surprise that he doesn't invest much effort in making new friends?" suggested Vaughn.

_Rodriguez and Thomas, laughing over lunch, swam across Richards' vision. "Support team reviewed appropriate protocol for communicating with field agent," he typed, suppressing his disquiet._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Jack walked down the wide boulevard back to his hotel.  Taxis passed him at regular intervals but he ignored them; the rain had stopped and the air was cool, and he was in no hurry to reach his hotel room after another failed evening.  

_Richards saw Dixon stride into the support base and confer quietly with Vaughn, his expression somber.  He put on the headset._

"Base to Watchtower."

"Watchtower."  Jack recognized Dixon's voice.

"Watchtower, be advised that I have given the order for the alternative mission to be prepped."

"I had four nights."  Jack kept his voice controlled.

"And now you have one."

"Understood, Base," replied Jack in clipped tones.  "Watchtower out."

_Richards looked back and forth between the two men, then down at the dialogue he had just typed.  How much, he wondered, had been communicated in the words left unsaid?  Where in the dry transcript that he was creating did he add that Dixon had just told Jack that his daughter's life would be put at risk if he failed the next night? _

Jack's mood darkened.  Bleakly he replayed the Countess's feigned physical attraction for him at the reception.  Had it been just that way for Irina?  Had their first attempts at lovemaking been… repugnant to her?  A long-buried wave of humiliation washed over him as he recalled his youthful pride at their exploits together.  Now tainted beyond redemption. He shook his head impatiently; this was a distraction he could ill-afford.  He only had one more night and, personal history notwithstanding, he was going to allow himself to be seduced.  Again.

He shuffled along, head bowed, shoulders hunched, subconsciously staying in character in case he was being followed.  His musings were interrupted by two teenagers, stepping out of the alleyway in front of him, knives drawn.

Laughter erupted over his comm link.  "Let me know if you want the backup team, Jack."

_Richards turned his head in amazement to watch the scene in the support base.  Showing a remarkable lack of concern, Weiss was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the console, eating a donut._

"Gimme your wallet and your watch!" the taller one demanded in Czech.

Conscious of the cars passing him on the boulevard, Jack raised his hands.  "Please don't hurt me.  I'll give you anything you want," he said in English.  Slowly he pulled out his wallet and offered it with a trembling hand.

_Seeing the shake in Jack's hand through the glasses, Richards' lip curled in disgust.  One of the best field agents in the CIA?  _

The muggers looked at each other and smiled.  A tourist.  An *American* tourist.  "Wanna have some fun?" the taller one said to the shorter one in rapid Czech.  At his companion's assent, he turned to Jack and gestured for him to move into the dark alley from which they had emerged.

"No, please!" begged Jack.  A rough shove propelled him into the shadows.  Jack surveyed the area carefully, pleased to see that there were no clear sightlines to where the 3 of them now stood.

"Be gentle with them, Jack," urged Weiss.

As the two muggers approached their prey, knives drawn, Jack abandoned his cover and drew himself to his full height.  "You have one chance," said Jack in fluent Czech.  "I have not had a good night.  If you drop your knives and leave now, you won't get hurt."

_Richards saw Vaughn walk into the support base and look over Weiss's shoulder._

"What the - ?"

"$5 says it's over in 15 seconds."  Weiss looked at Vaughn hopefully.

_Richards turned back to the other screen in time to see the taller teen lunge at Jack.  He was unable to make any sense out of the subsequent screen images, however, as Jack's movement came so fast it left him dizzy.  When Jack's head finally stopped moving, both teens were motionless on the ground.  _

"12.7 seconds.  Pay up."

"I never agreed to that bet!"

_Richards rewound the tape and played it in slow motion, jaw open.  They hadn't taught _those_ moves in training.   Where, he wondered, was he going to learn them?  _

Jack emerged from the alley, feet shuffling, and finished his walk back to the hotel, a grim smile on his lips.

**

Jack's hand paused on the doorknob to his hotel room as a telltale glimmer of light shone under the door.  "Watchtower to Base.  Signing off for the night," he snapped, turning off the transmission without waiting for a reply. Lip curling into a snarl, he threw the door open to find, as he expected, Irina within.  "You b*tch."

She looked up, her expression one of polite concern.  "Bad night, Jack?"

"Congratulations, Irina.  Now you've gotten my attention.  What exactly is the point of this farce?"

"Never get involved in a land war in Asia."

"Excuse me?"  Jack's tone was frigid.  

"The most classic blunder.  Only slightly less well-known is assuming that I will sit idly by while you get laid by that whore."

"Now you're spouting lines from a B movie* at me?"  Jack's eyes narrowed.  "Wait a minute.  Didn't he – you doped *both* glasses of champagne?" he demanded incredulously.

Irina gave him a glittering smile.  "Glad to see that PhD in game theory finally paid off."  

Jack slammed his fist down on the desk.  "Dammit, Irina, I don't have the patience to play your childish games.  This is hard enough as it –," he stopped abruptly.  "Please leave," he said coldly.  "And don't interfere again."

Irina crossed one leg over the other and made herself comfortable.

"Fine," he ground out.  "Have it your way."  He reached his hand up to his glasses and started speaking.  "Watchtower to Base.  What is the current location of the backup team?"

_Richards looked from his monitor to the support base monitor in confusion.  Weiss was at his desk, writing up notes.  No image was apparent on his screen; no transmission appeared to be occurring._

"You wouldn't," hissed Irina, rising to her feet and advancing towards him.

"Stand by, Base."  He looked at Irina, face unflinching.  "Try me."

Her shoulders sagged.

"Your word that you won't interfere again."  Jack's voice was harsh.

She nodded curtly.

"Watchtower to Base.  Stand down the backup team for the night."  Jack reached up and touched his glasses again, then pulled them off and tossed them onto the desk.

_Weiss was still writing up his shift summary, Richards saw.  Nice bluff, he thought approvingly.  Was Bristow's wife really on the run from the CIA?  Well, that certainly explained the transmission failures._

"That wasn't necessary, Jack."

"Wasn't it?  I only have one more night.  I can't afford any more of your extracurricular activities."

"One more night to end up in bed with her."  Irina's eyes were hard.

Jack squared his shoulders.  "Yes."

"Why is this so g*ddammed important to you?  There have to be hundreds of ways to slip phony information to the Covenant.  Of course," she added nastily, "I'm sure they don't have the advantage of the Countess' devoted personal attention.  Did you enjoy that kiss tonight, Jack?  Her tongue down your throat while she imagined herself with someone else entirely?  Her hands moving over you while she wondered what the best way was to extract the information -," Irina paused as she saw Jack turn white and look away.  

"Surely," she prodded recklessly, misinterpreting his response, "you knew she was faking it."

"Of course I did," he said with a constricted voice.  "I'm an expert at being seduced, remember?  But I appreciate your insights into what she was thinking, given your experience."

Irina stared at him dumbfounded, "Oh God.   Jack -,"

"Don't."

"Jack, listen to me.  It's not the same." 

"Oh, isn't it?" He spun around, fists clenched at his side. "Me, the pathetic fool that couldn't believe his luck.  You, swallowing your revulsion and willing to do whatever it took to extract the information."  His eyes blazed.  "Do you deny that's the way we started?" 

The words crackled like lightning in the charged air between them.  "I deny that's the way we ended," she said softly.  "Jack -," she said penitently, taking a step forward and laying a hand on his arm, "I-,"

"I know," he said, anger draining from his face.  "We've been through this.  I just want this g*ddamned mission to be over."

"This is hard for you," she observed quietly.  

"Yes."

"And there's no alternative?"

"Of course there is," he said with resignation.  "It's for Sydney to attempt a hostile entry to the villa.  Dodging mines, dogs, and snipers.  Which is what will happen if I fail."

"This is about gaining entry to the villa?  And Sydney's the backup?"

"Surely you didn't think this was something I was doing by choice?"

"Perhaps I was confused by the fact that she's young, gorgeous, and willing," replied Irina, unable to remove the hint of an edge from her voice.

"Fine."  Jack threw his hands up in exasperation.  "I admit it.  I volunteered for this assignment because I didn't think I could keep my hands off of her.  I'm going to screw her senseless and then, when she's recovered, screw her again.  You'll probably hear her screams from here.  Are you happy?"

"B*stard," she said without heat.

"I have one more night to get access to the master bedroom, Irina.  If I don't, Sydney will be sent in."

"There must be another way to gain entry."

"CIA intelligence says there's not."

"There's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one."  Irina looked speculative.  "I wonder…,"

Jack cut her off with a warning look.  "You gave me your word."

Irina chewed her lip, considering her words carefully.  "I won't interfere in your accomplishing your mission."

Jack sighed, recognizing an evasion when he heard one, but confident that she would not put Sydney at risk.

"It's late.  I need to go."  Irina had a purposeful air.

Jack's eyes flickered.  "You could stay here tonight."

"As the backup plan?  I think not."

"You know that's not what I meant."  His hand reached out to stroke her cheek and sighed.  "I have missed you, you know."

Irina turned her head and pressed her lips to his hand, eyes brooding.  "It would be best to miss me a little bit longer, Jack.  I'm not sure I can be responsible for my actions in the morning, knowing that you're going to bed her tomorrow night."  

He nodded in understanding, resigned.

With a last, brittle smile, Irina turned on her heel and left.

*******************

A/N – with apologies to The Princess Bride


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_"So how's the porn king today?"  Rodriguez and Thomas joined Richards at lunch on his second day._

_"Fine," replied Richards noncommittally.  _

_"Any, you know, action yet?"_

_"Yeah."  Richards pushed the chow mein on his plate around with a fork. _

_"Yeah?  You've been watching hot sex scenes and all you can say is, 'yeah'?"_

_ "Um, have you guys ever imagined what we might be like in 30 years?  After we've spent our whole lives doing this?"_

_His friends looked at each other in consternation.  "Are you feeling okay, Richards?" demanded Rodriguez.  "You've just started to shave.  Why are you worrying about what you'll be like when you're old?"_

_"Yeah, you'd be better off worrying about getting shot or stabbed in the field," added Thomas._

_Or betrayed or manipulated or tortured or imprisoned or disillusioned, thought Richards to himself.  "Never mind."_

**

"But I don't know how to dance," Jack protested feebly.  A kaleidoscope of multi-colored lights played over the converted warehouse in which they stood.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be a fast learner," said the Countess in a suggestive voice close to his ear.  "I'll show you."  She grabbed him by the hand and led him out onto the crowded dance floor where hundreds of other dancers bumped and ground their bodies to the beat of the deafening music.  The Countess had recovered rapidly from her "indisposition" and had lost no time in inviting the Professor out for one last night on the town before the end of the conference. 

"All you do is move your hands like this," she demonstrated.  "Come on, Professor, you do it."

Feeling slightly silly, Jack copied her movements, waving his hands in the air.

"Then rock your hips like this," encouraged the Countess, moving her hips in a deliberately provocative manner.

Jack made a half-hearted attempt at moving his hips.

"Good!" said the Countess.  "Now do both together."

Groaning inwardly, Jack began gyrating, slightly out of time with the music.

"Splendid!" clapped the Countess.  Together they danced in the pulsating crowd, the Countess inching closer and closer to him until she was thrusting her hips into his, her breasts rubbing against his chest.

"Countess.  Margit," panted Jack.  "I-I can't take much more of this.  I'm feeling a little faint."

A brief flash of exasperation flitted across the Countess's countenance, swiftly replaced by concern.  "But of course, Frederick."  At that moment the song ended, and the Countess' ears perked up.  "Oh, Frederick.  A *slow* dance."  She reached up and put Jack's hands around her back and snuggled close.  "This might be more your speed.  You're such a romantic."

A smothered cough echoed over Jack's headset.  Damn Vaughn.

_Richards turned in curiosity to the support base screen.  _

Vaughn covered his mike and turned to Weiss.  "Do you think the security tapes for that rave might be available?" he asked innocently.

An expression of rapture crossed Weiss' face.  "I'm on it," he said rapidly, picking up the phone.  He stopped abruptly as realization dawned.  "Wait a minute," he said suspiciously.

Vaughn grinned.  "That's right.  When Jack goes looking for those tapes - ,"

"- and you know he will -,"

"- he'll find out who got them, and -,"

"-you'll have the tapes.  And I'll be dead.  Some friend you are," he complained, putting down the phone.

_"Seasoned professionals," Richards muttered to himself.  "Support base considered and discarded an approach to gather supplemental documentation of mission."_

The Countess draped her arms around Jack's neck and began giving him a full body rub.  "There, isn't this nice, Frederick?" she purred.

Jack mumbled an assent, then carefully stepped on her foot.  "Oh!  I'm sorry, Countess," he apologized.  One more night, he reminded himself.  

A disruption in the seething mass around them caught Jack's attention and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the cause.  His hand grabbed for his glasses.

"Watchtower, we have lost transmission.  Repeat - ,"

_Richards automatically began scanning the crowd with a practiced eye.  Ah, he thought, there she was.  His eyes widened._

Jack looked on disbelievingly as Irina, clothed in a sleek outfit that appeared to be only marginally larger than a washcloth, cut through the crowd, an escort at her side.  Jack swallowed as he saw that she wore her hair down and loose, an emerald brooch around her neck that fell enticingly between her breasts.  She was…magnificent.  Her eyes locked with his and his body responded immediately, only to be inflamed by the Countess' movements.  An involuntary groan escaped his lips.

"Professor?"

"I-I'm sorry," said Jack flushing as he stepped back from the Countess.  Anything to reduce the unbearable pressure.  "I don't know what came over me."

The Countess scanned his face with satisfaction then, glancing down, her eyes took on a speculative look.  "Well, well," she said appreciatively.  

Jack cursed silently as he read the reassessment in her eyes.  

"I'm sure *I* don't mind."  She moved to close the distance again.

"Do you mind if we sit down?" Jack took another step backwards.

"Perhaps," the Countess trilled, "we should leave?  While this is still…fresh in your mind?"  The Countess grabbed his hand and turned, only to come face to face with Irina's escort.

"Margit, what a lovely surprise!"

"Ralf!" replied the Countess, with slightly less enthusiasm.

"Margit, may I introduce to you Sonja Berinzen?  She's an old family friend."  Irina gave the Countess a feral smile.

"Charmed," said the Countess frigidly, assessing the competition.  "This is Professor Frederick Bartholomew.  Frederick, Ralf Van Moergen."

Jack extended a limp hand.  "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled.

"Would you mind, Professor, if I stole away the Countess for one moment?  I have a small matter to discuss with her."

"G-go right ahead.  Miss Bernz?  Could I get you something to drink?"

"Berinzen.  And I'd prefer to dance."

"He's tired," stated the Countess firmly.

Irina cocked her head.  "It's a slow dance.  I'm sure he can manage."  She flashed Jack a sultry smile and, without looking back, dragged him onto the dance floor.

"So, is that a gun in your pocket or -?"

"Very funny," he snarled.  "Where's the rest of your damn dress?  You have negligees that are more modest than that."

Irina gave him a brilliant smile.  "Ralf likes it."

"B*tch."  Jack swallowed the rest of his reply as he saw the Countess watching them with narrowed eyes.  He perched his hands gracelessly on Irina's waist and began to shuffle his feet.  "What are you doing?" Jack hissed when he saw the Countess turn back to Ralf.  "You promised."  

"I might have another entrance to the villa."

Jack looked at her skeptically.

"Ralf is an ex-boyfriend of the Countess.  He claims he knows of an underground tunnel that the Countess uses for her more discrete liaisons."

"And he told you because?"

"He owes me some favors."

Jack surreptitiously glanced over at Ralf, noting the youthful, sculpted body.  "What kind of favors?" he growled quietly as he stepped on her foot.  "Oh, I'm so sorry Miss Betz," he said in a louder voice.  "I'm not a very good dancer."

"Berinzen, you bozo.  You are so dead," she muttered.  

"When you say 'might have an entrance', what does that mean, exactly?"  Jack looked downwards, watching his feet carefully.

Irina hesitated.  "It means he might be able to find it again, if it hasn't been closed.  It was several years ago."

They danced in silence for several moments, before Jack observed regretfully.  "It's not enough.  If I miss this window and the entrance doesn't materialize…,"

"I know," she admitted grudgingly.

He squeezed her shoulder.  "Thanks anyway."  

The band wound down the song with a flourish, and Jack stood immobile in the middle of the dance floor with Irina, pensive.  "Irina, I -,"

"The b*tch is back," interrupted Irina, sotto voce.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, once more every inch the bemused academic.

"Frederick?  Our car's here.  It's time for us to go."  The Countess smiled sweetly at Irina.  "So nice to make your acquaintance, Miss -,"

"Butz," interjected Jack helpfully.

"Berinzen."

"-Miss Berinzen," finished the Countess with aplomb.  "I'm afraid the Professor and I have plans for the rest of the evening.  Don't we, Professor?"  While her question was directed at Jack, her eyes rested pointedly on Irina's hand, which remained on Jack's arm.

"Uh, y-yes, if you say so, Countess," Jack stammered.

"And unfortunately," the Countess added in a silky voice, her gaze traveling down to the crotch of Jack's pants, still noticeably distended, "sometimes three's a crowd.  I'm sure you agree, Miss Berinzen?"

Not a muscle moved in Jack's face as Irina painfully gripped his arm.  Only the sure knowledge that she couldn't be hiding a gun or a knife in the scrap of fabric that constituted her dress kept him from leaping between the two women.

"Yes," replied Irina, her voice low and dangerous.  "I agree.  Three is definitely a crowd."

"Well, then," said Jack quickly.  "Since we're all in agreement, perhaps we should go?"

Flashing a triumphant glance at Irina, the Countess allowed herself to be escorted off the dance floor.

It wasn't until the door closed on the Countess's limousine that Jack began to breathe again.  He reached up and switched on transmission.

"Base to Watchtower.  Receiving transmission.  Lost you for 10 minutes.  Everything okay?"

The Countess leaned back against Jack.  "Oh, Frederick, we're having such a wonderful time tonight."

"Wonderful," answered Jack glumly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_"How much longer, Richards?"_

_Richards looked up to see his supervisor peering in through the door.  He checked the remaining memory.  "Should be done today, sir."_

_"Excellent. I just received a call from LA.  They wanted to know if the transcription was underway yet.  I assured them you were almost finished."_

 "Countess, it was very generous of you to invite me back for coffee."

"It was my pleasure, Professor."

"It's getting quite late -,"

"Oh, but I haven't given you the tour yet," cooed the Countess.  "Let me just show you around."  She took him by the hand and led him through the villa, gradually working her way to the second floor.

"…and in here you can see a fine portrait of Emperor Rudolph II, who made Prague the seat of the Hapsburg -,"

 "Th-this must be your *bedroom*," Jack protested, eyes probing the room and the study beyond.  "Surely it is not appropriate for -,"

"Professor.  Frederick.  By now you must have noticed how attracted I am to you?"

"W-why yes, we seem to have become good friends."

"Very close friends," she agreed.  "It seems a shame that tonight will be our last night together.  Why don't we relax here and chat for a while?" She pulled him down forcefully next to her on the loveseat.

"Uh, okay, if you think – what are you doing?"

The Countess finished unknotting his tie and slowly threaded it through his collar.  "I thought you might be feeling a little warm."

_Richards stared at the Countess in his monitor.  *He* was certainly feeling warm.  He glanced over at the video of the support base and noticed that the scene was getting rapt attention from Vaughn and Weiss as well._

"Y-yes," Jack stuttered.  "I am."  He reached up to loosen the button of his collar and paused as the Countess laid her hand on his.  "Here.  Let me," she urged.

Jack watched silently as the Countess unbuttoned his shirt all the way down, his jaw tightening imperceptibly.  "C-Countess?" he asked timorously.

"It's all right, Frederick," she soothed.  "Why don't you wait right here while I - ,"

...go and change into something more comfortable, Jack thought sarcastically to himself.

"- go and change into something more…comfortable?"  Without waiting for a reply, the Countess left the room.  Jack looked longingly towards the study, but dared not make a move.  In his experience, the length of time for this phase was highly variable.

A short time later the Countess reemerged.  What she was wearing was clearly more comfortable.  "What do you think?" she asked coquettishly.

"...doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it?" observed Weiss to Vaughn, his hand covering the mike.

Jack looked flustered.  "I-it's very p-pretty, Countess, but I don't know if..."  

A knock on the door interrupted him.  "As you requested, Countess."  A butler proffered a tray with two glasses.

"Thank you, Vasek."  Turning to Jack, the Countess offered him a glass.  He noted without surprise that it had a distinctive chip on the base.  "I thought this might help you relax, Frederick."

This plus a half-bottle of scotch, Jack thought to himself.  "I am a little n-nervous," Jack admitted.  

"Drink up," the Countess urged, lifting her glass to her lips.  

Obediently, Jack lifted the glass and gulped it down, praying that the antidote he had taken earlier in the evening worked.

"You'll feel better shortly," the Countess assured him.  She took the glass from him and set it down.  "Perhaps, if you took off your shirt...," she began to advance towards him, her intent clear.

"C-could we turn out the lights?" stuttered Jack.  It was the one obvious flaw in the plan.  He might have the body of someone in his 50's, but not that of a reclusive academic.  The number of scars alone would arouse comment.

"Oh, you're shy," she twittered.  "Of course."

Jack heaved a sigh of relief as she extinguished the lights and made her way back to him.  She stumbled slightly and he caught her automatically as she lurched forward.

"Oh, dear," she laughed.  "How clumsy of me."  Her arms slid under his shirt and around his back.  Slowly she caressed his skin, tracing lazy circles.

Jack's eyes closed briefly in revulsion.  

"Kiss me, Frederick," she breathed.

Steeling himself, Jack lowered his lips to hers, gracelessly bumping her nose.  His lips parted as her tongue demanded entry, invading his mouth.  He issued a soft moan.

Pulling back, the Countess looked up at him, a calculating gleam in her eye.  "Tell me, Fl-Frederick, about the work that you do."  She steered him towards the bed.

_Richards took a deep breath.  This was it.  The full monty.  "Tell me, Frederick, about the work you do," he typed.  He bit his lip.  How much additional detail should he add?_

"W- well, you know that I work with viruses."

The Countess pushed his shirt off his shoulders and ran her hands over his chest.  "Your paper was most intriguing.  I imagine viruses are very difficult to aerosolize." She struggled for a moment as she removed the shirt completely, and pushed him to a sitting position on the bed.

"Not so difficult with the proper equipment.  Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to include the latest techniques in my paper.  C-countess, what are you doing?"  Jack slurred his words slightly, trying to give her the impression that the drug was working.

"Making you happy, Flederick."  She went down on her knees and began to fumble with his belt while groping him through his pants.  "What kinds of techniques?"

Jack looked down at the blonde head poised over his groin and a bead of sweat began to form on his forehead.  He drew in a ragged breath and reached his hands down to help her with his belt, the complexities of which appeared to be eluding her.

"A two-stage process, we've found, is most efficient -," he undid his pants and, swallowing the bile rising in his throat, leant back, "- to separate the individual cellular components -," he reached up and switched off the glasses, 

_Richards glanced over at the support base tape to watch the reaction._

"Damn!  Can you believe it?  What a time for those glasses to switch off!"  Weiss looked at Vaughn in dismay.  "He was rounding third!"

"Don't tell him.  Somehow, I don't think he'd appreciate the interruption right now."

_"Interruption in transmission was noted at Base, but no action taken due to sensitive nature of agent's activities at the time," typed Richards.  _

 "-prior to insertion into -," Jack heard the sound of his zipper slowly opening and, staring at the ceiling, issued another moan.  What was taking so long?  Why couldn't she just get this over with?  He waited a moment longer, then looked down in puzzlement.  The Countess had not moved.  "Margit?"

"Yes?" she answered placidly.

"Are you okay?"

"A l-little d-dizzy.  Is there something you w-want?"

Jack stared at her in astonishment, noting her glazed expression and slurred speech.  Surely she couldn't have….he glanced over at the glasses.  She had given him… the wrong glass?  A surge of exhilaration shot through him, leaving him almost weak-kneed with relief.

"Margit, stand up and sit on the bed," he ordered experimentally.  He watched as she docilely obeyed his command.  He thought carefully for a moment, rapidly developing and discarding tactics. Making his decision, he stood up and stripped.

Turning his attention to the Countess, he removed her robe and negligee, artistically dropping them along with his clothing at different points on the floor.  He guided her over to the bed and tucked her in.

"Go to sleep, Countess.  When you wake up you'll remember that you had," he paused.  He had been about to say 'the best sex of your life'.  Reluctantly he continued, "that the Professor was pathetic in bed, as you feared, but that you got the information you wanted."  He sighed and climbed into bed next to her.

**

Jack lay wide-awake in bed two hours later, thinking about coincidences.  Absently he reached up to his glasses and turned transmission back on.  He wondered what Irina was up to.

Weiss looked at Vaughn as the screen flickered on to show a view of a ceiling.  

"Base to Watchtower.  Do you read?"

"Yes," replied Jack softly.

"What's that noise?"  The Countess' gentle snores punctuated the darkness.

"The Countess," he said quietly.

"She sounds happy," smirked Weiss.

"Weiss -,"  The menace in the tone was clear.

"Watchtower, when do you project accessing the safe?" interjected Vaughn hurriedly.

Jack paused a moment to listen one more time.  The rest of the house was still.

"Now," he answered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his boxers.  Stealthily he made his way over to his shoes.  A gentle twist on one heel yielded the components of a stethoscope, which he quickly assembled; the second yielded a small flashlight.

 "Monitoring your transmission," Vaughn assured him through the glasses.  

Jack padded into the study and approached the bookshelf concealing the safe.  Studying it carefully, he slowly ran his hands around the molding.  He grunted in satisfaction when he found the release, and swung back the shelving to reveal a safe of modest technology.  He paused in dismay.

"Base to Watchtower.  Is there a problem?"

"There may be a failsafe," muttered Jack quietly.  "The setup's too easy."

There was a brief pause.  "Base to Watchtower.  Confirm that we have no intel on a failsafe."

"Sh*t."  Jack scanned the room, studded with portraits, shelving, statuary, and furniture.  It could take him the entire night to locate the failsafe.  Assuming there was one.  He heard the Countess rollover in the adjoining room and glanced at the clock on the desk.  3am.  

"Base to Watchtower."  Dixon's voice came over the comm. link.

"Watchtower."

"Vaughn reports you believe there is a failsafe."

"It seems likely.  A child could crack this safe."

Dixon paused.  "Watchtower, there is no exit strategy for you if you trip the failsafe."

"Give me an hour to locate it.  Watchtower out."  Jack's voice was abrupt.  He knew where Dixon was heading.

Despite moving with careless disregard for the noise he was making, Jack came up empty-handed after an hour's searching.  The number of possible locations to secrete a button, he concluded, far exceeded the time available.  Which left him with only one option.

_Richards turned once more to the support base tape as Dixon re-entered the room._

"Any luck?" asked Dixon.

Vaughn shook his head.  "What do I tell him?"

"He's going to have to abort," said Dixon heavily.  "But I'll tell him.  He deserves to hear it from me."  Dixon pulled on a headset as Vaughn watched him soberly.

"Base to Watchtower."

"Damn!" said Weiss, as the screen in front of them went blank.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Dixon.

"We've lost transmission.  It's happened periodically throughout the mission."

"You mean he can't hear me?"

"And we can't hear him," said Vaughn, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Dixon muttered an expletive under his breath.  "Stay at your post," he ordered.  "If I'm not mistaken we should get transmission back any minute now."

_"Director Dixon unable to issue order to abort due to technical difficulties," typed Richards._

Jack lowered his hand from his glasses.  The minute he had heard Dixon's voice, it had been obvious what the communication would be.  And the consequences for Sydney.

He moved to the safe and taking a deep breath, put on the stethoscope and began to concentrate.  As anticipated, the safe combination was easy to crack.  With one hand on the lever, he readied himself.  He should have, he estimated, 20 seconds if he tripped a failsafe.  He turned on the flashlight, switched on the glasses, and pulled on the safe door.  

"We have transmission," announced Weiss.

"What a surprise," said Dixon dryly, as Jack began to rapidly page through the document in the safe.

"No audible alarm," confirmed Vaughn.

Jack came to the end of the document.

"Base to Watchtower.  All pages received.  Well done," said Weiss in relief.

"Watchtower, if you ever pull a stunt like that again -," came Dixon's voice through Jack's headset as he carefully laid the pages back inside the safe in the exact order he had found them, "so help me I'll –,"

The study door crashed open behind Jack and he whirled around to face two guards aiming AK-47's at his chest.  "You may not get the chance," muttered Jack, slowly raising his hands into the air.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Go wake the Countess.  I'll keep him covered," said one guard to the other.

_Richards watched the support base erupt into action.  Weiss was on the phone with the CIA station chief in Prague; Vaughn barked orders by satellite radio to the local backup team outside the villa.  They looked, he acknowledged grudgingly, like seasoned professionals._

_Dixon was the only stationary point in the storm.  He stood to the side, studying the monitor, a thoughtful expression on his face._

"The team is in place, sir, awaiting your order to attack," reported Vaughn.

"How many times did you say you had lost transmission?" asked Dixon pensively.

Vaughn looked puzzled at the apparent non sequitur.  "I don't know.  6 or 7?  What should I tell the team?"

"What was Agent Bristow's evaluation of the feasibility of rescue if he were captured inside the villa?"

"He didn't think the backup team would be much use," Weiss volunteered, putting down the phone.  "It would take them 20-30 minutes to breach the perimeter defenses; he figured that a hostile attack would force their hand and he'd be dead before the team reached him."

Dixon nodded  "Put the team on standby.  Let's see if Jack can pull this one out."

The furrows on Vaughn's forehead stood out in sharp relief.  "And if he can't?"

"Then by his own reckoning, Agent Vaughn, he's no worse off than the alternative."

**

"You b*stard."  The Countess swept in, wrapped in a large robe tied around the middle.  "You _used_ me."

Jack, clothed in only his boxers and his glasses, had his arms pinned behind him by two very large guards.  Three others stood back, armed with rifles.

"Just returning the favor."

The Countess' eyes flashed dangerously.  She nodded at one of the guards, who stepped forward and buried the butt of his rifle into Jack's stomach, then expertly flipped it and smashed it across his jaw.

_Blood drained from Richards' face as the crack of the rifle butt and Jack's grunt of pain echoed in stereo through the small room.  The Countess's face, contorted with cruelty, loomed in Richards' screen and he shrank back involuntarily._

Grabbing Jack's hair in her hand, the Countess tilted Jack's face up to hers.  "Who are you, _Professor_?"

She turned to one of the guards.  "Get Vasek!" she ordered through clenched teeth.  She gave Jack's head a vicious jerk.  "Had a little help, did you?  Do you want me to show you what happens to spies?"

Vasek was dragged in, trembling.  "Countess, please, I don't know what -."  His pleading ceased abruptly as she pulled a gun from the pocket of her robe and shot him in the face at point-blank range.

_Richards gasped as Vasek's head exploded in front of him.  He paused the tape, feeling slightly ill.  With Bristow wearing those glasses, it was like… he'd been there.  And field work no longer seemed quite so glamorous.  His hands shook as he typed, "Vasek shot and killed by Countess as example to Bristow."  He gulped, and wondered how Analysis had obtained the glasses.  Had Bristow worn them out?  Or had they been recovered… later?  He hit the play button again._

The Countess turned back to Jack.  "Now, Professor, I think it's time you answered a few questions."

A dull boom echoed on the far side of the villa.

Dixon looked inquiringly at Vaughn.  Vaughn spoke briefly into the radio, then turned back to Dixon.  "It's not our team, sir."

Dixon nodded.  "Thought not."

"You!  Handcuff this man," ordered the Countess to one of the guards.  She pointed her gun at Jack.  "Leave him with me.  Two of you remain outside in the hall.  The rest of you take care of whatever caused that explosion."

The guards scrambled to secure Jack and hurriedly exited.  "If those are friends of yours," said the Countess menacingly, "you're a dead man."  She glanced meaningfully at Vasek's body.

"And if they're not?"  Jack leant casually against the wall, hands handcuffed in front of him.  He noted the Countess was careful to maintain a reasonable distance between the two of them.

The Countess shrugged.  "If they're not...it will take a little longer."  She studied Jack for a moment, lips pursed, taking in the muscular chest and shoulders, and the multiple scars on his torso.  He had dropped all the Professor's mannerisms and tentative speech; she could only wonder that she had mistaken him for an academic.  "So you're shy?" she said sarcastically.  "Only undress in the dark?"

"Don't get around much," replied Jack.  "Do you mind if I pull on some clothes?"

"Shut up."

Another explosion rocked the villa, this time a little nearer.  Shouts could be heard out in the hallway.  The door opened and one of the two remaining guards poked his head in.  "Countess -,"

"Deal with it," she snapped.  The two guards took off running.

Jack reached his hands up toward his head.

"What are you doing?" demanded the Countess.  "Put your hands down."

"Just adjusting my glasses," said Jack.

_The support base, which had been eerily silent, erupted again._

"Lost transmission!  Damn those glasses."  Weiss pounded his fist against the video monitor.  

"I'm sure Marshall did his best," said Dixon mildly.  "I think you'll find they start working again in a half hour or so."  He stretched and looked at his watch.  "I'll be in my office.  Contact me when transmission resumes."

Vaughn and Weiss watched him leave in astonishment.  "He's sure got a lot of confidence in Jack," Vaughn observed.  They both resumed guard over the blank screen.

_Richards stared at his screen in perplexity.  Every other transmission failure had been explainable; this one, when Bristow's peril was arguably the greatest and his wife nowhere to be seen…"Ohmigod," he breathed, and turned back to the glasses._

"Why don't you go and check on how the guards are doing?" suggested Jack.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" hissed the Countess.

 "I think," said Jack, "that the answer to that question can only be," the unmistakable click of a safety being released sounded behind the Countess, "yes'."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Countess spun, arm raised.  A soft _pffft _was heard, and her gun flew from her hand.  "You!" she spat, clutching her injured hand to her chest.  "What the hell are you doing here?"

Irina stepped into the room, her pale face thrown into sharp relief by the head to toe black camo she was now wearing. "Retrieving something that belongs to me," she said grimly.  Her eyes swept the room and settled on her half-naked husband.  Jaw tightening, she examined the Countess more closely, noticing that the robe she wore covered nothing at all.  The skin tautened across her cheeks, becoming almost translucent.

 "Something that belongs to you?" repeated the Countess, slightly bewildered.

"I believe she's referring to me," explained Jack apologetically to the Countess.   "I'm afraid my wife can sometimes be a bit possessive."  He eyed Irina carefully.  "I'd recommend no sudden moves."

"Did you get what you came for?"  Irina demanded in staccato tones, her control stretched paper-thin.  Her hand tightened reflexively on the gun.

"Yes.  Thank you."  Jack raised his hands above his head and stretched the chain between them. A second _pffft_ shattered the chain and he lowered his hands back down.

"Your _wife_?" The Countess turned to Irina.   "This is your _husband_?"  Her face twisted into a sneer.  "You're welcome to him.  He's pathetic in bed."

Irina's head snapped back to the Countess and she stared at her for a moment in stunned silence.  "What did you say?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Pathetic.  Has all the sex appeal of a dead fish.  Wouldn't recognize slot B if you drew him a diagram."

Irina shot a hard glance at Jack, who shrugged sheepishly.  The tension slowly drained from her face and her lips began to twitch.  "_Really_," she drawled.  "Do tell."

"As enlightening as it would be to listen to the two of you discuss my sexual prowess -," 

"Jack, could you come here for a moment?" interjected Irina sweetly.  

Sighing, Jack approached her.  "Kiss me," she commanded, keeping her gun trained on the Countess.  

Jack rolled his eyes, but obediently bent his lips to hers.  The resulting kiss, expertly delivered, left little doubt in anyone's mind about his ability.  

Irina stepped back, face flushed and lips swollen.  "Like that?" she taunted the Countess.

"Take him and get the hell out of here," snarled the Countess, her face now purple.

"Ah, yes," said Irina, her voice now low and menacing.  "Three *is* a crowd, isn't it?"  A knife materialized in her other hand and, with a lightning move, a gash appeared on the Countess's face from ear to chin.  

The Countess screamed.  "My god, my face!  What have you done?"  

"Made sure you don't forget."

Feet pounding up the stairs to the second floor could be heard in response to the Countess' scream.  "I hate to interrupt," said Jack, "since the two of you seem to be getting along so well, but is the way in also a way out?"

Irina nodded.

"Then I think it's time we left," said Jack firmly.

**

Thirty minutes later they paused for breath in a densely wooded area.  Both listened attentively for several minutes, but the only sounds to be heard were those of the forest – branches rustling in the wind, night predators stalking their prey.  Jack sighed in relief.  "Looks like they chose not to follow."

A gleam lit Irina's eye.  "It's possible," she admitted, "that they were too busy."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing too drastic.  I'm sure if they acted right away they'll have been able to save a portion of the villa."

"You really didn't like her, did you?"

"I don't like to share."

"You were jealous?  Of _her_?" 

"Is that so hard to believe?  She was young - ,"

"Shallow."

"...gorgeous -,"

"Showy."

"...and willing."

Jack paused.  "That was a plus," he acknowledged.  "Two years is a *very* long time."

"I might be willing, under the right conditions."

A muscle jumped in Jack's jaw.  "And those would be?" he asked warily.

"That you wear those glasses, Professor.  And nothing else."  

Blood began to pound in Jack's ears.  Dragging his gaze away from her with difficulty, Jack turned to stare fixedly at a stand of trees in the distance and switched the glasses back on.  "Watchtower to Base."  

"Watchtower, come in," came Vaughn's worried voice.

"Am proceeding to nearest extraction point."  He felt Irina's arms snake around his waist from behind.  "Executing standard evasion protocol. Estimated rendezvous in 4 hours."   He groaned involuntarily as her hands began to wander.  "Do you copy?"

"Watchtower, are you injured?"

Jack closed his eyes as Irina began to lightly stroke him.  "I'll be...fine in a couple of hours," he replied tightly.

"We'll have a medical team standing by, Watchtower.  Take it slow."

"I'll...do my best," Jack gasped.  "Going radio silent now."  He reached up and switched off the glasses transmission, then moved his gaze down to Irina's hands.

_Richards stared at the screen, momentarily nonplussed.  His hand hovered over the controls, then decisively punched "STOP".  He leant back in the chair, running his hand over his face.  One day soon he, too, would be a field agent.  And as much as he wanted to see what other moves Jack Bristow had learned that hadn't been part of CIA training...he leant forward and advanced the glasses 3-1/2 hours._

_The view that greeted him was…a close-up of fallen leaves.  The glasses, he realized, had been dispensed with sometime over the previous time period.  As, he suspected, had the boxers. He turned up the volume._

"You doped them both, didn't you?  Both the Countess' glasses?"  Irina's head lay pillowed on Jack's chest as he laconically stroked her hair.

Her smile curved into his skin.  "Her butler was kind enough to leave them out for a couple of minutes, along with whatever it was he was lacing yours with."

"Alas, poor Vasek, I knew him well...," Jack murmured.  "And after you worked your magic on the drinks?" His tone was cautious.

Irina tensed under his hand, and he shifted to caressing her neck and back. "I went to the far end of the villa," she replied evenly, "and amused myself by setting explosives."

"Irina –"

"Jack," she interrupted.  "Don't.  I don't want to know what did or didn't happen."  Taking a steadying breath, she turned towards him, eyes both granting and begging for absolution.  "I understand better than most.  You did what you needed to do."  

Jack exhaled slowly and drew his thumb across her cheek.  "Yes."  He lightly traced a pattern on her face.  "It's not easy, that kind of work," he admitted.  "It would be difficult to do that continuously for ten years."  His thumb paused.

"Impossible, I would think.  But I wouldn't know."

Jack nodded, wordless, and drew her into his arms.  

_Minutes passed in silence, and Richards double-checked the glasses to make sure they were still functioning.  A soft "beep" punctuated the stillness_.

Jack swore softly.  "It's time."  The words sliced through the night air.  "If I miss the pickup Vaughn will have a search party combing the woods."

Irina was silent, her eyes suddenly desolate.

"When will I see you again?"

Irina bit her lip.  "I need to go back, Jack.  There's too much at stake.  It... won't be soon."  She turned in his arms and placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

Jack closed his eyes briefly.  "Be careful," he whispered.  "Do," his voice tightened, "do what you need to do."  He opened his eyes and let her see the absolution there.

"Jack," she said softly.  "It won't be easy for us, not for a long time yet."  She hesitated, then added urgently, "Whatever happens, whatever people try to put between us, remember."  She took a ragged breath.  "Remember that I love you and Sydney more than life itself."

Jack studied her face, her eyes dark pools of regret and longing.  "I know," he said simply.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_ "LA's sending someone to pickup the transcript."  The voice of Richards' supervisor interrupted him as he worked on the debriefing tape.  "They must be in a hurry."_

_"I'll be done in a few minutes," Richards assured him._

"...after the Countess was overpowered, I was able to locate an escape route that...,"

_Richards diligently typed up the debriefing notes from the mission.  He had noted with interest that, at no point, was any mention made of Bristow's wife.  Agent Bristow never lied, precisely; but apparently no one thought to ask him if he worked with anyone else during the mission. He wondered if there would be much of a problem once the LA office reviewed the transcript._

"Agent Bristow, I understand that there were several transmission failures with the glasses."    Marshall looked distressed.  "I don't understand what happened.  I've checked them out and couldn't replicate the problem."

"Don't worry, Marshall," said Jack bracingly.  "They functioned fine when they needed to."

"Of course, the micro-recorder would have been a back-up, but I'm concerned that we lost contact so many times."

"Micro-recorder?" repeated Jack after a slight pause.

"Well, of course I put in a micro-recorder, in case transmission signals were blocked from the villa."

"I see," said Jack, his voice slightly strained.   "And you've...completed your evaluation now?"

"Yes, the technical review's complete.  They're on their way to Analysis in Langley for the post-mission review – I thought they'd find  the full recording of the mission helpful."

"Ah."

_Richards froze. He rapidly reviewed everything he had learned about Jack Bristow over the past two days. Decisively he scanned the transcript and made a number of surgical changes._

It was with little surprise that shortly afterwards Richards heard a knock on his door.  It swung open, and a dark shadow filled the doorway.  Richards blinked, his eyes adjusting from the dimness of his office to the light outside.

"Agent Richards?"

"Yes sir," replied Richards cautiously. 

"I'm Jack Bristow."

"Yes.  I know."  Richards gulped.  "I recognized you."

"You're working on 'Trojan Horse'?"

"I'm done, sir."

"I see."  

Richards licked his lips as Bristow's eyes scanned the room, coming to rest thoughtfully on the eyeglasses, still sitting in their cradle.  "W-would you like to see the transcript, sir?"

"I think that might be a good idea."  Jack took the printout from Richards and read through it wordlessly.  It did not escape Richards' notice that at no point did Bristow leave an open path to the door.

Jack looked up.  "How old are you, Richards?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"During your training, which qualities did they tell you were most important for a successful agent?"

"Attention to detail and judgment, sir."

"And which of those two do you feel is the most important?"

Richards hesitated only for a moment.  "Judgment, sir."

A hint of a smile appeared in Jack's eyes.  "I think you might be right, Richards."  His eyes strayed back to the desk.

"I...I guess you came for the glasses, too, didn't you?"

"I'd like to see them for a moment, yes."  Jack pulled a case from his pocket and, taking the glasses from Richards, put them inside.  "This will keep them safe."  He handed the case back to Richards.

Richards watched without comment as a paperclip flew across his desk and attached itself to the outside of the case.  "Quite safe," agreed Richards.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Richards.  I'm sure you'll be quite successful," said Jack dryly.  He turned to leave.

"Agent Bristow -," Jack paused, his hand on the door, and turned back.

"Yes?"

"You started when you were seventeen too, didn't you sir?  The CIA's been your whole life?"

"Yes."

"I just wanted to know, sir," Richards took a deep breath, "when you were my age, did you ever think it would turn out like-," his hand gestured towards the transcript, "like this?"

Jack's eyes took on a distant look for a moment before he refocused on Richards.  "No," he said evenly.  "No, I didn't."

"And if you could do it all over again," Richards pressed urgently, "would you do it?"  He held his breath in anticipation.

Jack looked at Richards, then down at the glasses clutched tightly in his hand.  "But that's not really the question, is it?" he pointed out softly.  "The question is, knowing what you know, will you?"    

**fin**


End file.
